At my mother's request, I went to her house to let the dogs out on my lunch hour yesterday. At Meg's request, I dropped the dogs off to her this morning.

My Dog was clearly scared and confused to be leaving again. He's been shuffled around too much. He was separated from his brother dog when his previous family surrendered them. He was leaving Mom and Dad's dog behind. He's going to be separated from Meg's dog later today, when he's brought to the vet to be neutered. The poor guy just doesn't know what's going on. He doesn't know what to expect. I am so sad for him.

And so my attempt to keep a respectful distance from My Dog, to keep myself from getting too attached, has failed. Miserably.

The adoption is far from being a sure thing.

Despite the dog not being officially put up for adoption yet and listed on the rescue's website, supposedly the rescue has other interest in My Dog.

I submitted my application on Friday and I have a "home visit" scheduled for tomorrow, but apparently some pre-approved family gets to meet with My Dog on Sunday and decide if they would like to pursue adoption.

Meg, my sister, is like "OH HELL NO. IF THEY AREN'T GOING TO LET A FOSTER'S FAMILY GET FIRST DIBS, THEY CAN FIND A NEW VOLUNTEER FOSTER." As though she'll be able to force them to pick me over the other families.

I don't know that is how it works. Meg isn't used to not getting her way. But I...well. Things don't usually happen for me on the first try.

This has the potential to turn into a shit situation. My Dog may not be my dog.

Tuesday, January 27, 2015

(Truthfully, I settled on compassionate days ago but I kept thinking that I would come up with something better and I kept not coming up with something better.)

I need to be more compassionate to other people.

And I need to be more compassionate to myself.

For others: I believe that I'm a relatively kind person but I don't think that being truly compassionate is my default. (Like, I might go out of my way to help you but that doesn't mean that I don't think you're an idiot for being in whatever tough situation you're in. That's not nice or necessary.) I'm not sure if it's possible to change my nature, but I would like to focus this year on being more aware of it. I need to get better at giving people the benefit of the doubt. I need to be more understanding. I need to take two seconds and reconsider my first impression.

For me: I try do something nice for myself every now and then, sure, but I spend far more time and energy reminding myself of everything that is wrong with me. The workouts that I have skipped. The boys who didn't ask me out. The books I haven't read. The home improvement projects I haven't DIYed. The amount of sleep I did/did not do. There is no limit to what I will criticize myself about. And it happens several times an hour. At least. It's one thing to have high expectations, but it's another to beat up on yourself all day, every day. I need to give myself a break.

It is going to be harder to quantify compassion than it was for me to list out things that I was grateful for, but I am going to try to check in on this periodically. It will keep it at the front of my mind. It will keep me accountable. It might even keep me from getting to the point where I write really whiny and pathetic blog posts that pop up...more frequently than I care to admit.*

You see that? I'm doing this for you guys, too. We might all win here, friends.

Monday, January 26, 2015

1. I submitted the application to adopt Meg's foster dog.
2. I am fairly paranoid about my adoption application being rejected. The rescue told Meg that someone else had expressed interest in him. I don't have a yard. Maybe I answered some of the questions wrong. I don't know.
3. Due to a bout of bronchitis going around their house, I didn't see Lucy and her brood this weekend. That's very unusual.
4. What I did see was Kinky Boots at the theater with my mom and my sister; Meg and I bought Mom the tickets for Christmas. The Motown the Musical tickets we got her for her birthday were a hit; it's been fun to give her experience gifts rather than material gifts.
5. I am so cultured and refined that I'll be back at the theater in a few weeks to see Once with Lucy.
6. Also: Meg and I saw Sam Smith on Thursday night.
7. I ordered a pair of summer concert tickets for me and Lucy, too.
8. Please remind me never to add up what I spend on event tickets over the course of a year.
9. I am reading Russian Winter by Daphne Kalotay.
10. The maybe-thing with Alexander jumped the shark. I'm secretly a little relieved.
11. I kept the rug. It's far enough from the dining room rug that it isn't glaringly obvious that I bought it thinking they were a perfect match.
12. I am wearing a new dress.
13. I FOUND MY SKATES.
14. I have been thinking that it's time to change my hair. This is mostly because it always looks like a hot mess.
15. I am going to get to the gym at lunchtime if it kills me.

It's not that I don't want a dog. But it's a big commitment. It's a lengthy commitment. Having a dog means that I'm agreeing to live and prioritize a certain way for the duration of his (hopefully very long and very happy) life and -- oh, I guess that just scares me.

Commitment scares me.

It's hard for me to tie myself down to things because, well, because I don't feel very tied down. I don't have a husband. I don't have kids. I don't have elderly parents who need my care. Everything that anchors me to this place and to this life are things that I choose to anchor me.

Doesn't this sound familiar? Doesn't this sound exactly like how I acted when I started house hunting?

Wednesday, January 21, 2015

Over the weekend, I went rug shopping with Meg and our mom. We were shopping for Meg's house but that didn't keep me from looking for myself. Never does!

I was just browsing, passing the time, waiting to give my opinion on Meg's shortlist of choices. I wasn't even looking for a rug for my kitchen. I have a rug for my kitchen; it's fine.

But what my kitchen rug is not is a perfect match for my dining room rug. What I found was the perfect match for my dining room rug. Same pattern. Same colors. At a completely different store. What luck! I showed it to Mom and Meg, making all sorts of joyful exclamations about the positive turn of events.

While I'm not that matchy-matchy when it comes to decorating, it seemed silly to turn my nose up at the good fortune. Mom told me to get it. Meg told me to get it. It was a sign. I bought it. I brought it home. I dropped it down right next to the matching rug.

Tuesday, January 20, 2015

It's snowing here at the moment. Big, fat flakes that are falling at a reasonable rate. This snow isn't wreaking havoc, it's just making everything quiet. I like this kind of snow.

This may be the first snowfall of this kind that we've had all winter. Which would explain a little something about how THIS WINTER IS SLOWLY KILLING ME. We have had little to no parts of wintertime that I actually enjoy (quiet snowfalls being one, brisk sunny afternoons perfect for skating on the lake being another) and, instead, we have been suffering through an endless parade of gloomy days and biting cold.

Winter has never kicked my ass like this winter is kicking my ass. (And it's not really that bad of a winter.)

Is winter just harder to handle as you age? Is that my problem? Maybe I have Seasonal Affective Disorder. Should I buy a light therapy box? Maybe I'm part Prairie Dog and I just need to hibernate through the season.

Yesterday is a perfect example of how this entire winter has felt. I struggled from the second I walked in the door at work until the second I left for the day. (My productivity topped out after I signed two invoices and recycled an old magazine.) I struggled through a lunch break shopping trip at Target, where I was so out of it that I didn't even buy anything. Except a latte at Starbucks. Which didn't even help.

By the time I reached the end of my workday, I was so tired that I was nearly cross-eyed. I had packed a gym bag with the intention of hitting the treadmill in the evening, but that definitely wasn't happening. I decided that it would be okay to go home, make dinner, blog and get a few things done around the house.

Also too ambitious. I ate dinner while robotically scrolling through my Twitter feed and went to bed at 8:30.

Thursday, January 15, 2015

Did you watch Showtime's The Affair? Was it the greatest thing ever? I want to try it but I'm afraid the subject matter will hit too close to home. (Thanks, Dad!) Admittedly, I cringed every time I saw a commercial during my Homeland binge. Have you read anything good lately? I am reading We Are Not Ourselves by Matthew Thomas. It is too early for the L-word, but like it very much.

How insane would it be for me to go out with Alexander? I got a "I really want to take you on a date" text message from him yesterday. I feel weird about being so much older than him. I feel weird about his not-really-anything-but-isn't-that-still-something attempts at -- whatever -- with my sister. I feel weird because I'm friends with his mom. I just feel weird.

Are you sick? I am. Just a cold. I was overdue for catching some sort of a bug; I do work in a public building, after all.

What's up for the weekend? I'm thinking about sneaking out early tomorrow and starting mine early with an afternoon showing of Wild.

Tuesday, January 13, 2015

Honestly, despite the exercise (which I think was worthwhile), it didn't seem like that great of a year. There were high points, sure, but I have been happier. It feels like I spent so much of the year fighting myself to be happier and more grateful and lighter. It feels like I was constantly battling with myself over who I wanted to be and how I wanted to see the world.

I guess that I had hoped that the expression of gratitude would make me happier, too.

Regardless of how happy I am or am not, I do feel like I am a more grateful person as a result of this year-long experiment.

And that is just one more thing to be grateful for.

December

Tradition.

Countless supportive and thoughtful Tweets, emails and comments about the Thanksgiving Day Blog Fiasco.

New Years Eve massages.

Serial.

Scandal.

Basically any form of entertainment consumed in bulk.

Purging.

Christmas cookies.

Low expectations.

November

The 10 years that my sibling didn't know about the blog that I didn't want her to know about.

October

Sleeping late on the weekends.

Getting the okay to finish up the outdoor soccer season with my coed team.

Having bad days, bad weeks, bad months but still knowing that it's all going to turn out.

August/September

Biting the bullet.

My cousins. Always my cousins.

For the possibility that comes with going on a date, even though I admittedly hate the process.

Finding yoga once again.

Every minute I spend with Lucy's kids.

Health insurance. Mine isn't the best. But I have it.

The hard, nervous beat of my heart that comes when I am surprised, nervous or scared and reminds me that I'm alive.

To have a doctor who I have seen, adored and trusted since I was 15.

Drybar.

That Drybar does not have a Detroit location.

For the truth, however it comes out.

That I was wrong to dread Anna's wedding weekend.

Friends who know they can count on me.

Voting rights.

Good news.

Good books.

Good coffee.

Good MRI results.

Gummy worms.

Patience.

July

The truth.

Perspective.

That life isn't a competition (even though it feels like it sometimes).

Chocolate milk.

After work dates at the beach with my best friend Lucy and her boys.

The many, many, many hours my mom has spent helping me with my condo.

That the way I eat when I am on a road trip is not the way I eat every day.

A 1.7 mile, 5 minute commute.

Friends who know how and when to push me.

Plush, new towels.

Sunday summer soccer season.

The cans of touch-up paint left behind by my condo's previous owner.

Surprise carrot cake deliveries by my grandma.

Making it through a whole year at my job.

Feeling settled in at my new place.

Specialty soccer socks that come with grips on the foot bed, despite their $40 price tag.

Windows-open, mild, sleeping-weather nights.

Having a good friend who is also a good locksmith.

Kineseo tape.

A flexible work schedule.

The luxury and convenience that is leasing a new car without stepping foot in the dealership.

The fresh and clean and crisp and strangely pleasing smell of the aforementioned new car.

Grapefruit juice.

June

A valid passport.

A house of my own.

Cheese.

A sense of adventure.

Volunteers.

Anti-humidity hair products.

Friendly strangers.

Organization.

My parents, who put up with me and my moods and my anxiety during the entire house hunting process and who had hardwood floors installed in the condo while I was in Brazil and who have fixed the oven and touched up the trim and otherwise been pretty damn great.

A safe trip.

Common sense.

Public transportation.

Patriotic pants.

Flirtatious boys.

A decent sense of direction.

My lunatic sister, who is intense and difficult and drives me crazy and is my favorite person and traveling partner.

Sunscreen.

An adventurous palate.

The sporting event of all sporting events: the World Cup.

That this month, like all months, ended so I finally can stop bleeding money.

Caipirinhas! ALL OF THE CAIPIRINHAS!

May

Patience.

Sunscreen.

My insanely flexible work schedule.

The wisdom of experience.

That Starbucks doesn't regularly run a Frapuccino Happy Hour special.

Road trips.

That one magical bottle of nail polish that happens to be the perfect color and extra-resistant to chipping.

An 86% shorter distance.

Giant inflatable couches.

Learning not to compulsively check my work email as soon as I get in.

Derby hats.

Lunchtime at the lake.

Online shopping. With a good coupon code. Or free shipping. Or both.

Wishes.

Inspired Mother's Day gifts.

Plans and preparation (and cheerleader friends).

A well-organized inbox.

Perspective.

Short meetings.

Long weekends.

April

Working close enough that my grandma can drop off Easter goodies to my office.

The favors I am able do for others.

Legs that carried me through another half marathon.

Circumstances that start bad but turn good.

Blogs as a vehicle for venting.

Blogs as backup memory.

Blogs as crowd-sourced fashion consultation.

Honesty.

Streaming video.

Hope.

Peeps.

Allies.

Dresses.

Being wrong.

Concert tickets.

The simple anticipation of road trips here and there.

Waterproof blister bandages.

Endings.

Beginnings.

March

A new nickname from Baby A.

The perfect tank top for my trip to Brazil.

Quiet Sunday mornings.

A more-flexible-than-not work schedule.

Donuts.

Perspective.

Squats.

Parents who care enough to drive me crazy.

The first outdoor run of spring.

Coffee in moderation.

A lot of honesty on the house ordeal: from Lucy, from Chet, from readers, from my parents, from myself.

The perfect top knot.

Surprise and possibility.

The coming spring.

February

To have a sister and therefore a logical person to list as my beneficiary on all of those documents where you list a beneficiary.

A pension that will be vested in less than three years.

eos Lip Balm.

Sweet brown dogs who dance with joy when you get home at the end of the day.

Successful attempts at new recipes (in February, I pulled off a peach raspberry pie, Buffalo Chicken Quinoa Salad with Broccoli, Chicken Power Bowls and Knock You Naked Brownies).

Technology.

Great songs enjoyed on repeat.

Free shipping.

Police officers who will let you off with a verbal warning.

Being close and able to help my grandparents.

Good hair days.

Lights at the end of very long tunnels.

Conclusions of very long seasons.

An influx of spam comments on the blog; they're terribly annoying but have given me a good reason to click through and reread a lot of really old posts.

Hot showers.

Olympic figure skating.

Roll Up the Rim at Tim Horton's.

The resiliency of baked goods packed up in a box and mailed across the country.

Getting paid to shop for books.

Space heaters.

Every day we get closer to springtime.

January

Safe arrivals at the end of a lot of harrowing commutes.

The steam room at my gym.

Lotions, body butters, baby oil and all other potions that aren't exactly keeping all of my winter skin woes at bay but are managing to prevent me from turning into 5'2" of shoe leather.

My own wisdom in recognizing when something isn't good for me or no longer serves me well.

Goals to work towards.

Silver jewelry.

An unlikely and wonderful friendship with one of my trustees.

Warm drinks.

Thick sweaters.

The authority to call a snow day.

The rare but awesome, distraction-free, workday coffee date with Lucy.

The luxury of knowing that I have a warm place to sleep and the means to pay for that source of heat.

Books.

Fireplaces.

Books read in front of fireplaces.

Distractions.

Projects.

A good cry.

A good sleep.

A good sandwich.

A good list.

It's a blessing to have so many reasons to be grateful. It's a blessing to have the perspective to see it.

Monday, January 12, 2015

In 2014, I set an intention rather than a resolution and doing so served me well. As far as enriching my entire life goes, I think that's the way to go. Focus on the positive -- something that you want to add to your life -- not the negative behavior that you want to eliminate.

I intend on setting another intention this year (and writing a proper wrap up of last year's). All in due time, my friends. It's only January 12. What's the rush?

But I'm going to make a few resolutions, too.
Sure, resolutions generally don't work and maybe I'm just setting myself up to fail. But still. I do like a resolution. I thrive with a goal and a plan. And it just so happens to be the new year and I just so happen to be in desperate need of getting a workout routine back in order.

Rather than run with an outrageously audacious resolution (as I have absolutely done in the past), I'm going with two reasonable resolutions.

Take 20 yoga classes. Yoga does a lot for me, mentally and physically, and it's always the first workout that I eliminate when I get busy. I want to make it a priority in 2015.

Make 50 lunchtime gym trips. Basically, this is me committing to one additional, easy, workout per week. My lunchtime gym trips are low key. I don't even bother putting on a sports bra. It's 45 minutes on the recumbent bike. It's a few hundred calories that I wouldn't have burned otherwise. It's time away from my desk to read a few chapters of whatever book I'm reading. It's a good reason to keep my horrendously expensive gym membership, as my horrendously expensive gym is just a mile from work. It is essentially nothing yet I can't seem to make it a priority (maybe the relative ease is why I don't make it a priority).

The long runs and the substantial workouts can be saved for after work. But there is really no reason that I shouldn't be active at lunchtime, too. I believe that the little things are what make or break your health and fitness, and this is a really little thing. I hope that, by making it a resolution, I can make it a routine.

We're almost halfway through the month so I imagine that most of you are well into resolution season. What's your resolution?
Or is it an intention? How is is going so far?

Saturday, January 10, 2015

It is the perfect shade of red and it's ridiculously lightweight and the leather is so soft that I want to caress it all day long. Also there's a little pocket. I haven't put anything in the little pocket but I am comforted by its existence.

Plus it is from a hometown company, which lends to a certain amount of warm and fuzzy feelings. And it makes it appropriately Midwestern.

Wednesday, January 07, 2015

My heart is always a little broken when a blogger goes MIA. I understand that things happen and hobbies fall to the wayside and writers block strikes but it kills me a little bit when a blog I love just goes permanently quiet.

As you likely know, I am making decisions about the future of my blog. Everything is a little bit up in the air but I am certain of one thing: I don't want to just up and disappear one day.

Tuesday, January 06, 2015

I cannot believe that it has been three years since Lucy's husband called me to tell me that they were at the hospital. Three years since I left work in a rush to wait out the little guy's arrival. He's not even my kid but somehow that curly-haired wonderboy turned up the speed on my life, too.

I love it. I love everything about it. Even the parts that make me feel old. Even the parts that make me feel inadequate and incomplete. Even the parts that involve copious amounts of sand in my bra.

All along, I knew that I would love being an auntie but I had no idea how much I would love being an auntie. I knew I would love that boy but I didn't know that my heart would burst open every time I set eyes on him because it just isn't big enough hold all of that love.

Becoming an auntie -- Auntie Pie -- three years ago is one of the best things that has ever happened to me.

In celebration of three years of aunthood, I purchased Baby A the most obnoxious and awesome birthday present I could find.

It bounces. It makes noise. It takes up half of their living room. It will incite fights between the boys.

Monday, January 05, 2015

Do you guys remember that first date I went on at the beginning of September? I thought that the guy was decent and I had a good time and I was surprised when I never heard from him.

I didn't dwell much on it or him but there were a few gloomy days there where I couldn't help but wonder what, exactly, was wrong with me.

(Clarification: there are many days where I wonder what exactly is wrong with me but this was in relation to that particular dude.)

But he got deleted out of my phone and out of my head shortly thereafter. I can take a hint.

Then he texted me on Friday night. FOUR MONTHS LATER. To wish me a happy new year.

Okay. That's nice or ...something. But why? Why text on a random Friday night? Why text a happy new year greeting when it's January 2? Why haven't you forgotten about me entirely? Why do you care if my new year is happy? Why haven't you deleted my phone number?

I verified that the text message was from who I thought it was from (like I said, I had deleted his number but I found it in a screen shot that I had emailed to a friend) and turned off my phone for the night. Like I'm going to get all wound up over a guy who is clearly not interested.

I considered just ignoring it entirely but I was too curious. I replied on Saturday morning. And not even with anything bitchy. (Oh, I had so many bitchy responses that would have been so fun to peck out on my phone.)

I heard back from him a few times that day. It felt mostly like I was sending text messages to confirm that I would, indeed, return his text messages. Meaningless pleasantries. I have deeper conversations with my dental hygienist with both of her hands and a dental tool shoved in my mouth.

Maybe he just needed an ego boost. Maybe it was just a test. Maybe it was a booty call that was ruined by my delayed response.

Saturday, January 03, 2015

I knew her, not well, but from all of Lucy's Big Life Events. She was a fun person to be around. She had a big personality and a big heart. I know exactly why she and Lucy became friends.

She was a year younger than us -- 31 -- and she was married and had three kids. The youngest was born this summer and, shortly thereafter, she found out that she had leukemia.

She did chemotherapy. She had a (failed) stem cell transplant. She died five months later.

Lucy was called to be at the hospital when they took her off of the ventilator.

Lucy is okay. I think. She is acting the stoic therapist that she is; I hope that she will take a step away from the professional so that she can acknowledge what this is: bullshit. Those kids don't have a mom and there's nothing okay about it. It's unfair.

Lucy wouldn't let me babysit the boys for her yesterday (she had been at the hospital all night and presumably exhausted). She isn't always very good about asking for help. But I'm bringing dinner tonight and we can talk about what crap this is.

Friday, January 02, 2015

Apparently I should establish a resolution. So far, the only one I have come up with is making an effort to sleep in the middle of my bed, rather right on the edge because I have a whole bed so why not use the whole bed and also I'm just going to wear out a sliver of my mattress and that seems silly. SINGLE GIRL RESOLUTION.

(I will come up with a proper resolution.)

I had a decent New Year's Eve and a lovely New Year's Day. Meg is learning how to make pasta so, yesterday, she and I flexed our culinary skills and made two types of ravioli: spinach/ricotta and balsamic mushroom/brie.

Then we ate massive quantities of the ravioli. That was my favorite part.

I was wide awake at 5:45 this morning, which was more or less awful but did allow me to make a good dent in a new book and devour two exceptional cups of tea.

Hi. I'm A.

Born, raised, educated in the Midwest, I am such a Midwesterner. So Midwestern, if you will.

I am: a blogger of 8+ years, forever searching for my next athletic challenge, hopelessly overscheduled and always, always eating.

I started So Midwestern right after I graduated from college, hoping to chronicle my transition to adulthood. Graduate school, four half marathons, two new nephews, three apartments, a trip to Africa, a sprinkle of heartbreak, dozens of unfinished knitting projects, four turns as a bridesmaid, 8,913 job applications and two full-time positions later: I’m fairly convinced that the day when I feel like a legitimate, full-fledged grownup will never come. So I’ll just keep on blogging.

I write about a little bit of everything and a lot of nothing. Toss my ramblings with a few pictures, a touch of swearing and an endless appreciation for the beauty that is David Beckham and you have So Midwestern. Welcome.